A Waste of Time-Chapter 24: Crimson Threads

Man oh man,
Daemon mused as he crouched low behind a thick trunk,
I really need a bow. Or at least some javelins. This ‘throw a stick and pray’ routine is getting old.
He glanced at Ru and whispered, “I’ll need you to track it again later. For now, we move.”
Without another word, he rose and slipped off, taking out his small axe as they disappeared deeper into the trees.
Ru fell in step behind him, brow furrowed.
Why didn’t he just grab that elk outright? We could be halfway back by now,
he thought, biting back a sigh.
Ahead, Daemon found what he was looking for—straight branches, thick as Ru’s arm. He hacked at them with crisp, rhythmic strokes, stripping bark and shaving points. Each branch he crafted into a primitive spear, its shaft perfectly smooth and its head sharpened to a vicious tip.
Ru watched in silence, a chill creeping up his spine at the sight. His young master worked with unsettling focus—meticulous, swift, almost mechanical. A branch that would’ve taken an apprentice an hour to carve was cleaned and shaped in under five minutes. When Daemon laid the seventh spike at his feet, Ru couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if all that patient brutality ever turned on him.
“Let’s go,” Daemon said, hefting the bundle of spikes onto his shoulder. “Signal me when we’re near enough to spook it.”
They moved like shadows through the brush. At Ru’s sign, Daemon dropped low, gently setting the spikes down before creeping ahead. There it was—the buff-tailed elk, now grazing in a patch of shade, framed by a line of trees spaced just tight enough to matter.
Daemon crouched and waited. Patient. Calm. Like an angler waiting for the first tug on the line. Then, when the elk shifted toward the tree line—he struck.
Vwoo
—
Thud.
The first spike slammed into the dirt, a heartbeat from the elk’s shoulder. Startled, the beast lurched left—another spear whipped past, burying itself ahead of its new path. Again and again, wooden spikes drove the animal away from open ground and back toward the bottleneck of trees.
“You let it
escape
just like that—” Ru began, exasperated—
Thud.
Bugle!
The elk reared back, but too late—its massive antlers tangled between two stout trunks, wedged so tight its panicked thrashing only anchored it further. Its bugle echoed through the forest—a final plea for mercy it wouldn’t get.
Daemon rose from his crouch, brushing dirt off his knees with a satisfied hum. “Why get blood on my clothes when I can spare Jia the extra work? She’s got better things to do than scrub elk off my sleeves.”
He strolled forward and, with casual precision, bound the elk’s snout and mouth. A short struggle, a flick of the wrist—done. Clean, quiet, efficient.
Behind him, Ru just stared. He replayed the whole hunt in his mind—Daemon’s odd aim, the seemingly wild throws, the subtle herding from all sides. Not luck. Not panic. A net, woven before the beast even knew it was trapped.
I thought he was flailing,
Ru realized, awed.
He never flailed. He read every move ahead of time… even when his aim was off, it wasn’t.
Before he could catch his breath, Daemon clapped his hands together. “Alright, I’m hauling this back. Try to keep up.”
He activated the Hero Summon buff, grabbed the elk’s antlers, and ripped them free of the trees with a crack like splitting timber. He bound its legs tight, tossed the entire carcass over his shoulders like it weighed nothing, and shot Ru a grin. “Ready?”
Ru opened his mouth, closed it, and only nodded.
A ton and a half. On his shoulders. Moving at a sprint. Gods help us all.
Daemon took off. The forest floor shuddered with every pounding step. Within minutes they broke onto a faint trail, his boots leaving deep prints in the soft dirt. Five minutes later, the trees gave way to open fields and the edges of the village.
They didn’t go unnoticed. Farmers dropped their tools as a low rumble rolled through the fields—an odd tremor that turned heads before the sight of a skinny boy carrying a whole elk thundered past them. Eyes widened, mouths fell open. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, pointing as Daemon jogged past like a victorious warlord parading his trophy through the streets.
Behind him, Ru nearly tripped trying to keep up—and tried not to laugh.
He’s showing off,
he realized, watching Daemon slow just enough for the villagers to
see
the feat.
And good for him.
Daemon turned down the market lane, passing between stalls of wide-eyed vendors, before halting in front of an old shop with a faded sign. He shifted the massive elk on his shoulders and called out:
“Old man Lou! Fresh delivery—get out here and take a look!”
Inside, the old butcher paused mid-bargain with a startled customer as the ground beneath his feet seemed to thrum.
“Pardon me,”
he said, shuffling to the door—his curious customer trailing behind him.
They stepped outside just in time to see Daemon grin—and drop the elk at their feet with a thunderous smash.
A puff of dust billowed up, covering both men as the ground shuddered from the impact. They coughed and waved the grit away, but neither could look away from the sight: a twig of a boy standing smugly beside a carcass the size of a wagon, villagers parting around him like water around a rock.
Daemon dusted off his hands, gave the elk’s antlers a little kick for good measure, then shot the old butcher a bright grin.
“Take your time inspecting it and counting its worth,” he said, already turning away toward the rows of stalls. “I’ll be over at little Qiu’s stand, having some tea.”
And just like that, he strolled off—leaving Old Man Lou and his dumbstruck customer staring after him, slack-jawed amid the drifting haze of dust.
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